"But grief makes a monster out of us sometimes . . . and sometimes you say and do things to the people you love that you can't forgive yourself for."
— Melina Marchetta
Steve had found it hard to sleep recently, since the departure of Natasha from their home he had felt the uncomfortable loneliness of the flat resurface and the large empty expanse next to him in bed did not help matters. His mind was constantly reeling, spinning with the thoughts and emotions of the life they could have had and of the dismal situation he now found himself in. He had lost his son and now he had lost Natasha. He had thought that he had endured enough loss to last him a lifetime and that God had given him a lifeline to start over, and to truly live as he had so wished. But no, it seemed that everything he had loved had been taken from him again, pulled away so viciously that he could feel the agonizing rip reverberate through his flesh, accompanying the ever present emotional pain he now contended with. Turning over in bed he glanced at his bedside and noted the time, it was just gone one in the morning, this induced an aggravated sigh to escape from his lips as he rolled on to his back and stared up at the dark abyss that was the ceiling. Enveloped in the haunting silence that now occupied his home he heard an alarming amount of clattering coming from outside his front door. Springing from his bed and grabbing his shield that leant readily against the wall, he made his way to the living room in silent haste, arriving just as a stumbling Natasha burst through his front door. His arms relaxed, hanging listlessly by his sides as his expression took on a look of pure astonishment before he noted her bare feet, which were now embellished with vicious red cuts and peppered with black smears of dirt, causing his features to soften withering with concern,
"Nat, what on earth happened to you?" His voice was soft and sympathetic, but came across strong and steady trying to get through to the swaying and ungainly spy before him. Her crimson curls spilled wildly over her shoulders as her head lolled forward before tilting back to proffer her a direct view to Steve. On closer inspection he identified that her eye lids hung low and her usually sparkling eyes seemed to be murky and flickering at an alarming rate as if working ten times as hard to identify her surroundings, something wasn't right. As if to support that assumption he soon saw that in her left hand she held a bottle of wine, almost all of its contents were gone and he could guess where. She was drunk, hammered in fact. His brow line creased with confusion as he stepped forward warily to address her further,
"Natasha, are you drunk?" At that accusation Natasha straightened for a moment, managing to compose herself for a brief second and cease the swaying that her body had seemed to have adopted, her eyes narrowed and her lips contorted into a horrific scowl as she spat back,
"What do you care?" Steve's features softened again as he realised addressing her so starkly was not going to get him anywhere, placing his shield on the kitchen island he gazed into her eyes, hoping that somewhere within this heavily inebriated woman there was some sober sense that would listen,
"Natasha, please... what are you doing here? It's gone one in the morning." At that a growl ripped from her mouth as she flicked her left wrist forcefully releasing the wine bottle across the room and causing it to smash, the shattering tinkle of broken glass resonated within the quiet room, before she launched herself towards Steve her fists half-heartedly pounding into his chest. Simultaneously aggressive rasped words drifted from her lips,
"You bastard, you made me feel, you made me like this... you broke me! You made me care about you and about... about James... why? WHY?" Her punches had now ceased, as her fists now rested on his chest along with her forehead which had fallen forward, her strong, determined and if not slightly slurred voice now deteriorated into broken sobs as she relaxed into his body. His arms which had before been restrained by his sides, allowing her to assault him in whichever way she deemed in order to expel the pain, anger and grief that had plagued her, now wrapped around her tightly pulling her close to his chest. One of his hands found its way into her untamed tresses, his fingers combing through the curls in a gentle manner, one which he knew soothed and brought her comfort. He rested his head lightly on top of hers, and whispered words of comfort in a bid to cease her sobs,
"Nat, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me Nat, please. None of this was meant to happen, none of it. I'm so sorry that this has happened to you. Please Natasha..." She allowed herself to revel and indulge in the feeling of his strong arms around her, the mere presence of him the tonic to her inner battle, that was until the mere sober inkling within her clouded mind surfaced. Her eyes flung open and she ripped herself from his arms with such force that as she pulled back, her vulnerable condition caused her to stumble into the shards of glass that had littered the floor. She did not react, she felt nothing, she truly felt nothing at all. Standing there she stared at him from underneath heavy lashes, her swaying now minimal, her lips pursed tightly into a straight line and her features now completely indifferent. Steve lunged towards her trying to pull her away from the glass that now embedded itself into her feet, causing more damage than she had already incurred by walking to his apartment bare foot,
"Natasha please, move away from there! You'll hurt yourself..." With that comment a terrifying smirk painted its way across her face before she replied flatly,
"As if you didn't hurt me enough, I think a little more damage won't do any harm." Steve could now no longer contain the rage that had simmered below his concerned features, initially at her arrival he had felt that undeniable apprehension and worry that he constantly felt for her. But now, now he felt the underlying misery and outrage at her assumption and accusations that he had purposefully hurt her in some way. His brow furrowed under the weight of his rage as he replied to her, his voice clear, loud and concise,
"No, Natasha. Stop this now. You think I did this to you? That I wanted you to get hurt? Because I never wanted this to happen to us, ever. You can blame me for everything that's happened, I will let you do that because, god knows I've been blaming myself. Whatever you're trying to do here, by getting drunk and shouting at me; trying to forget everything that happened; of working yourself into the ground and shutting everyone who cares for you out. It's not working, and it never will, believe me I've tried it before. Stop it." During his exasperated tirade he had managed to inch his way towards her, and finally he was close enough to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her away from the shattered glass. Tucking his arm underneath her knees he carried her towards their... his bedroom, placing her softly on the bed as her eyes closed and her body succumbed entirely to the enticing pull of sleep. Going into the bathroom Steve grabbed hold of the first aid kit, pulling out the antiseptic wipes and tweezers before setting to work on her injured feet. He was as gentle as he could be, pulling out the shards of embedded glass with as much care as he could, wiping away the red as tenderly as possible to ensure minimal pain and discomfort, however despite the slight wince and wriggle it seemed that the alcohol had numbed Natasha's senses. Once he had finished he sat beside her on the bed, his concerned gaze drinking her in and, despite circumstances, relishing her presence. He loved her. God he loved her. A heavy sigh erupted from the soldier, as he muttered under his breath,
"Shit." However his moment of self deprecation was interrupted as he felt the beautiful spy beside him shift, and turn to face him her hand moving towards him warily as her eyes opened slightly. Her hand brushed against his cheek, before lightly grabbing his chin between her thumb and forefinger and turning him to look at her. He complied willingly, turning onto his side in order to address her fully, she had him. Her thumb stroked along his chin, which usually was clean shaven but now sported some stubble, noticing she hushed quietly,
"You haven't shaved." His placid expression brightened as an amused smirk adorned his features and a light chuckle flowed from his lips with ease, before he replied in a light-hearted manner,
"Yeah well it hasn't exactly been my main concern at the moment." Her eyes struggled to remain open and focused on him, frequently when she blinked her eyes remained shut for a long while before her emerald orbs were revealed to him again. A dazed soft smile graced her lips, a rare expression these days,
"You should shave. We can't have a bearded Captain America." Her thumb continued to softly graze back and forth across his chin in an endearing manner, one which he hadn't encountered from her for months and which he welcomed gladly. Daringly he decided he wanted to capitalise on this rare moment of affection from Natasha, slowly he moved his hand to her wrist of the hand that was occupied with caressing his chin, allowing his fingers to skate along the soft ivory expanse of the inside of her arm. He missed this, he missed her. Her body tensed slightly in response to his touch, causing her hand to halt its loving assault on his chin, before her eyes opened briefly, boring into his gaze before allowing them to fall closed. Her voice seemed helpless and weak, and Steve feared that she was going to break down into tears again, as she whispered,
"Steve... I couldn't do it. I couldn't... I can't..." Her brow furrowed and her features started to contort into one of pain, on instinct Steve shuffled closer to her one hand still holding and stroking her wrist whilst the other he placed on her forehead as he softly stroked her hair from her face with his thumb. In accordance with this action of comfort he shushed her softly, not understanding what she was trying to say but knowing that he didn't want to see her distressed again. Soothed by the soldier her eyes fluttered closed allowing the heavy fog of sleep to overcome her, the hand of the wrist Steve was holding slipped down to allow her fingers to lace with his, as her muscles relaxed and she fell into a deep dreamless slumber. Steve stared in awe at their hands, relishing in the feel of her palm against his, a feeling he had so missed. Pulling her hand towards him he softly bestowed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, lingering ever so slightly as he whispered into her alabaster skin,
"Please come back." Before he too allowed his eyes to close, and for the first time in weeks he fell asleep without being haunted by the bare walls, and the hollow empty echo that Natasha had left behind in her absence. For one night he had her here, and he feared that would be all.